


The Story Of That Night

by Sorrowcult



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, M/M, Song Lyrics, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorrowcult/pseuds/Sorrowcult
Summary: Alexander reflects on his relationship with one John Laurens.{historical lams}





	The Story Of That Night

Alexander could still hear Laurens' voice.

  
_"I may not live to see our glory."_

The way the brunet spoke slowly, deliberately, like poetry or a song. He could still smell the aroma of smoke from the fires that burned within the camp that always stuck to his clothes, trapped in the fibres.

_"But I will gladly join the fight."_

He wrapped the redhead up in his arms, gentle with him. There was still caution there, anyone could walk in and see them, and they would be killed for this, they knew it. There was a danger that came with Alexander, something that caught John around the neck and choked him. Made him think of his father and the wife he wanted him with, the kids he knew he had to have.

Though for now, he didn't need that, no. When Alexander was in his arms, he wasn't the son of a wealthy man who lived on a plantation, he was John Laurens, the abolitionist who was in love with a man who never stopped writing.

This beautiful hurricane of a man.

He leaned down and kissed Alexander, gentle yet firm, the words that he feared saying expressed so heavily.

This kiss said I love you, it screamed it while simultaneously whispering it. It drew Alexander in and left him feeling breathless, not the breathless he felt after a heated debate or the panic of a storm, or the harsh ghosts of a long passed sickness. The feeling could only be described as when you saw something beautiful, so beautiful for a moment you forget to breathe.

That's how kissing John felt.

_"They'll tell the story of-"_

Hamilton could hear it then, the beating of his panicked heart, the sound of a bullet being fired, the drowning of emotions as they swelled too high and consumed him, his Laurens was gone.

His dear boy, swept from his arms by an awful storm of blood and he could no longer sleep, he could no longer lay beside his Betsey without pain because those arms were too dainty, eyes too dark, skin too pale.

Not his John.

He was in his office now, a letter in his hands, one he wished his Laurens had read.

_"Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships.."_


End file.
